Down by the Bayou
by At A Venture
Summary: Eric/Sookie. In Houston, Sookie is shot in the shoulder while investigating a rather unusual mystery.
1. Chapter 1

**Down by the Bayou**

_Chapter 1_

I practically ran out of the bar, my high heels clicking on the cracked asphalt pavement that covered the employee parking lot. A couple of old street lamps cast glowing yellow ven diagrams on the ground, and I stood beneath them. An old cypress drooped across the lot, leaving aging cones to decompose. The heady smell of swamp and pine was at once intoxicating and vile, a reminder of the bayou I'd grown up around. I took a half second to breathe in deeply, to capture the smells of my youth, and then I returned to the strain of the moment. I faced away from the bar, toward the bank of decrepit vehicles driven by equally decrepit bartenders, waitresses, and staff. I forced my hand into the teensy tiny pocket in my mini skirt.

_17 Winona Place_: that was the address I needed to remember. I kept going over it in my mind, trying to keep my memory fresh. I could feel my skin warming up under the stress, probably only helped along by the fact that it was eighty-five degrees outside and wet as the bottom of a pool. Sweat dribbled down the back of my neck, between my shoulder blades. The fans and crappy air conditioning units in the bar had kept things moderately cool, but outside, in the sticky summer air, I was damp and gross. No amount of extra strength antiperspirant could help me now.

I wiggled my cell out of my pocket at last and flipped open the lid. I'd cracked the screen when I bent over to grab some broken glass on the floor of the bar last week, and that meant I couldn't actually look up numbers. I'd had to remember them all. That made things a little more difficult. I pushed the address (17 Winona Place) to one side of my brain and began punching in numbers. Okay, what was it? Crap, crap, crap. I fidgeted. My gut felt tight, and I was having issues breathing deeply. I started panting in the heat. I punched in numbers, erased them, started over. Finally, I got the number right. I held the phone to my head. It began to ring.

"I knew you wasn't who you said you was!" A cracked female voice yelled across the lot. I turned around suddenly, still holding the phone to my ear. It was on the third ring. Why wasn't he picking up?

"Jamie Lynn?" I yelled back at her. Her twisted mouth had fallen open and her slackened jaw revealed two missing teeth near the front of her mouth. Her belly bulged slightly with either a pregnancy or signs of bloating due to too much beer intake. I couldn't tell for sure.

"I knowed it the moment we met! You's a sick bitch, betrayin' yer own kind!" Jamie Lynn was really screaming now. She raised one arm out straight in front of her, and a sliver of yellow light bounced off the side of a revolver.

"Abby?" I heard Eric's voice in the receiver, but I couldn't answer him now. I stared at the gun, then back at the shooter. My knees knocked together.

"What is it? What did you get?" Eric's voice was anxious on the other end of the line. We'd been on this assignment for almost a month with no leads, and finally it had come together, only to end like this, at the barrel of a gun.

"Don't shoot, Jamie Lynn, please! It's me! It's Abby!" I called to her desperately, trying to convince her that I was my alias, that I was Abigail Pearson. I mean, I was married to a vampire, but she didn't know that. She didn't even know she was working for…well, not quite people.

"You ain't Abby Pearson! You's Sookie fuckin' Stackhouse. You's a damn vampire lover! You's a sick freak! They was right about you! VAMPIRE LOVER!"

"Sookie?! What the fuck is going on down there?" Eric was literally screaming into the phone now. I took a step backward, farther into the stream of street light. I kept holding the cell, but I couldn't think of anything to say. She'd blown my cover, out loud, in the street. Regardless of whether or not I got out of this alive, we'd never find Jenna now.

The sound of the gun was deafening. I didn't have time to run, and even if I had, my feet were glued to the spot. The bullet flew into my skin, and it burned. It hurt bad and I wanted to scream, but instead I grunted and dropped like a pile of bricks. I thudded onto the ground, and my hand flew up to the wound. I held my palm over it. The blood was hot and it trickled through my fingers. My spine shivered and I couldn't suppress the urge to groan.

"Eric," I whimpered into the receiver.

"Don't move, lover. I'll be right there." The phone clicked off. I dropped it and let my arm fall down. I could hear Jamie Lynn moving around somewhere in the distance. There were already sirens on the horizon. I listened to the back door slam against the wall as it opened.

"Abby!" Brewer yelled. His footsteps echoed on the pavement.

I pulled my good arm away from the bullet hole. Pain spasmed through my skin, but I was NOT going to take this shit lying down. I wasn't going to just lay here like a victim while Jamie Lynn got away with shooting me in the fucking shoulder. I shoved my hand against the asphalt and allowed myself a really good scream. Then I was on my feet. I wobbled forward as I caught my bearings. Jamie Lynn was being held, fiercely, by the arm. The Caterwaul Bar and Grill had cleared out into the parking lot. Brewer, my boss, was rushing toward me. I held up a hand covered in blood. He stopped in his tracks.

"James is on his way," I muttered. I stumbled forward, aiming myself in Jamie Lynn's direction. She was writhing, spitting, yelling, and carrying on. That stupid bitch had played all nice to me. Sure she was a swamp rat redneck, but she had always seemed like a nice girl. Even her pathetic thoughts had been nice. She was deceptive. Maybe she wasn't in her right mind. Hell, I didn't even care.

"Abby, you need to sit down, chere," Brewer said, his arm stretched out to grab me in case I fell back to Earth again. His thick Cajun accent was so un-Texas, so down home Louisiana, that for a second I forgot where I was. That just made me more upset. In Louisiana, I was Sookie Stackhouse, barmaid, telepath, a little crazy but well-liked. Nobody knew me in Houston, but in Louisiana, where Brewer was from, I was a good Southern girl. Good Southern girls don't get shot in the fucking shoulder.

"I'm fine," I seethed in Brewer's direction. I took more labored steps. I squeezed my hands into fists. Pain radiated through me like little rivers of fire.

"Please, Chere," Brewer begged. I walked past him. "If James sees you like this, walking around with a hole in your body, he'll kill me right out."

"He'll kill Jamie Lynn first," I growled. I'd finally reached the stupid bitch. She spat in my direction. I drew back my bloody fist and threw it into her toothless face. The man holding her, a Were-something but not a wolf, let her go. She reeled backward and smacked her head on the brick wall of the bar.

Strength oozed out of me and I dropped toward the ground. Eric was under me in a second. I felt his great big arms under my waist and I melted into them. I found my voice, and everything tasted like pennies.

"Stupid FOTS bitch," I growled in Jamie Lynn's general direction. I rolled my head back to look up into Eric's pretty blue eyes. "We have to hurry."

"We're taking you to the hospital." He narrowed his eyes.

"No, we have to get the vamp first. I know the address."

"She's not important. There's no comparison." Eric was already carrying me toward our car. He was opening the door.

"I got shot in the fucking shoulder trying to get this girl for Felipe. The least you can do is go and get her. I'll be fine for a little while. Let's just…" I felt dizzy, but I kept talking. "We'll pick her up. Then we'll go to the fucking hospital." Gran would've made me swallow an entire year's worth of soap for all the swearing I was doing. Then again, I had a hole in my body.

Eric shoveled me into the front seat and shut the door. He got in on the other side and looked at me with shining icy blue eyes. He was angry and bloodlusty, excited and pissed the fuck off. He gunned the engine and drove over the curb and into the street. We swerved down the road.

"Try not to bleed on the seats, lover. This is a rental."


	2. Chapter 2

**Down by the Bayou**

Chapter 2

"Are you almost ready?" Eric called through the bathroom door. I was washing the last remnants of conditioner out of my hair. The dye had washed out so fast that I'd had to color it anew. The whole bathroom smelled like ammonia and flowery fragrance. It was rank. I opened the little window over the shower to air things out.

"I'm still washing my hair!" I yelled over the sound of rushing water. He probably would have heard me if I'd whispered.

"It's almost eight," Eric reminded me. I sighed and yanked my butt out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around my body, tucked the corner between my breasts, and wrung out my hair over the sink. I pulled open the bathroom door to find my lover standing in the bedroom. He was holding out my uniform, a small black mini-skirt and a red cap-sleeved tee shirt with Caterwaul Bar and Grill printed on the breast. I took the shirt from him and grabbed a bra out of the dresser drawer.

"It looks good, almost natural," Eric complimented me. He kissed my neck gently.

"The girls are going to know I'm dyeing it." I sighed. I put on a pair of black boy short panties, and then pulled my skirt up around my hips.

"So? Most women dye their hair, Sookie," Eric shrugged. He placed a gold chain around my neck, my wedding band hanging from the end of it. I looked down at the band, fingered it, and then tucked it inside my shirt.

"I don't know why we bother with it. They're not even supposed to see it." I shrugged.

"It's part of the character, lover." He kissed my throat again, ran his fingers through my medium brown hair, brushed his hips against my backside.

"Oh stop, would you? Weren't you just complaining about how I was late for work?" But I didn't want him to stop, not really. I leaned back into his chest, and I wiggled my ass against his groin. We'd been working non-stop on the stupid case, and even though I was worried about Jenna, I was more worried about where my next orgasm was coming from.

"You are going to be late for work," he growled near my ear. His hand slipped up under my skirt, rolled around my front, and touched the triangle of flesh that met the tips of my thighs. I shivered with pleasure. "I'll make sure of it."

It turned out that I was only about five minutes late, and when I hopped behind the bar with flushed cheeks and blood-red lips, Brewer just winked at me and offered me a glass of ice water. I pressed a few cubes against my neck, which was practically burning. It was hot out on the banks of the Buffalo Bayou, all lined with cypress trees and oleander bushes. I could have contributed my blushing cheeks to the weather, but I wouldn't have gotten past Brewer. He was a Cajun, a werewolf, and a lover of women. Brewer liked to call the girls 'chere' and he could get away with it too. He was one adorable, well-built down-home boy.

"Evenin' Abby," he grinned at me, dropping a kiss on my cheek.

"Hiya Brewer, sorry I'm late!" I grinned at him. I'd tied my hair back into a ponytail, hoping that the move, plus the darkness of the bar, would hide the fact that I'd just colored it again. I should have known better. Supes have a pretty keen sense of smell.

"You dyed your hair, chere. Someday you'll have to tell me what color you really are." He waggled his brows at me, and even though it was hard to read Were minds, I knew Brewer was wondering if the carpet matched the drapes. I forgave his curiosity though. Brewer wasn't the type of guy to actually check on that sort of thing. Besides, he knew that Abby's husband, James, was a vampire.

"Heya Abby!" Angela Lange called to me as she carried a tray of beers to a table in the back of the bar. I waved to her, and took that as my cue to get around to my own tables. I had the front of the bar tonight, about four tables and three booths. I stopped over as one high table was filling up with two Weres I'd seen before. These guys, Jared and Casper, were some of my regulars. I cocked my head to one side, smiled that plaster-cast smile, and flipped open my little order pad.

"Heya boys, what can I get you tonight?"

"Just a couple of brewskies," Casper smiled. He held out his hand and I put mine into it. He kissed my knuckles. Casper and Jared were Southern Texans, and they're been brought up with Southern manners. Casper was a Were-dog, a German Shepard. Jared was a Were-coyote. They were pretty good friends, and I rarely saw them apart.

"How's James doin'?" Jared asked. The boys knew I was married. They'd both asked about the wedding ring I wore around my neck.

"He's good. Working tonight, of course."

"Of course," Jared nodded. "Man's gotta do what he gotta do to provide for his woman."

"Luckily I'm pretty good at providing for myself, honey," I reminded him gently. After all, I may be under an alias but I'm still an independent sort of girl.

"Right you are, Abby!" Casper laughed. I went to put their orders in, delivered them, and drifted off to the next table.

At a wide booth beside the front door, I found a family of werewolves, all friends with Brewer. Close friends, I figured, based on the way they looked over my shoulder at the owner, and the way Brewer smiled beatifically to show them I was a great waitress and an all around good person too. The family included an older man with graying hair, his wife, a small woman with auburn hair and bright green eyes, and their three children. The oldest of those children looked like his mother. He'd have the only werewolf capabilities in the family, assuming both parents were pure-blooded werewolves. The other two children, twin girls, would only have some traits, sort of like a recessive gene.

"Howdy y'all," I smiled. "I'm Abby Pearson, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I start y'all off with?"

"Can I have lemonade?" The oldest child asked. He was missing his two front teeth, so his high voice lisped a little. I grinned at him.

"You surely can. What about you girls?"

"Milk, please!" They said in perfect sync. I wondered if I could rustle up some milk. We had skim milk for White Russians. Hopefully that would be okay.

"I'll have an iced tea," their mother nodded, looking at the menu. Caterwaul's grill menu was significantly longer than the menu at Merlotte's, so it required a bit more time to make a good decision. Brewer even had specials on weekend nights.

"I'll take a Budweiser," the husband finished.

"I'll get those right to you. Let me just take a minute to tell you our specials. Tonight, we're serving fried catfish with French fries and coleslaw, and we also have fresh local crawdads, either fried or grilled with garlic, also with French fries and coleslaw. Now, y'all take your time lookin' at the menu, and I'll be right back with your drinks."

I walked back to the bar to put in drink orders, and Brewer leaned over to chat while he worked. His hazel eyes shone brightly in the low-lit restaurant, and his teeth were bright white and sharper than a human's. Still, he was such a sweetheart; I couldn't imagine him being anything more than a puppy, even under the full moon.

"That there's Arles Johnston, and his wife Becky. The son is Geoffrey, and he'll grow up to be a full wolf. The girls, Tessa and Tara, are twins. They were both born with tails, which was a bit unusual. Had them surgically altered when they were infants. They're a great family. The twins were an accident. Most Were families don't have more than the one child."

"They seem nervous," I frowned. I was lining up the drinks on a tray.

"They don't get around humans much. Geoffrey is getting to that stage where he changes randomly, a paw here or a tail there, or whiskers. They worry about getting judged. This is a pretty small area. I mean, Houston's big, but people talk."

"Yeah. I know how that is." I sighed and carried the drinks back. I took orders: catfish for Geoffrey, crawdads in garlic for Becky, steak for Arles, and grilled cheese for the twins.

I went around to more tables, topping off beers, taking orders, and keeping my thoughts fresh for any incoming sound bytes. That was the purpose of working at Caterwaul's. I wasn't here to make friends with the customers, or even to flirt with my boss. I was here to listen, intently, for anything that could lead us to Jenna. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe tonight would be the night. I'd been working at the bar for three weeks, and I missed Merlotte's something awful. I missed Amelia and George, our six month old tabby kitten. I missed visiting Gran's grave on weekends to have our little talks, mostly about my love life, and I even missed Bill Compton standing out in the graveyard, watching the house, as if he didn't think I knew he was there. You know that when you're missing your slightly creepy ex-boyfriend's stalkerish activities that it's time to go home.

I hovered in the midst of my section. Jamie Lynn walked by me and gave me a sour look. One of her eyes had dark purple circles around it, and it looked like she'd been punched. I frowned. Poor girl. She was a bayou girl, a swamp rat some folks called them. She'd grown up in the seedier parts of Houston, right along the water's edge, in the swamp that got really flooded during the rainy season. Still, she was a fairly nice girl. Her thoughts almost always drifted toward her boyfriend, a white trash boy named Ted. Ted came into the bar sometimes, at least so I heard. He didn't like vampires, so I assumed he wouldn't like Weres if he knew they existed. He didn't though. He was clueless. He figured Brewer was just a regular guy, and he liked him just fine. Ted did like to beat on his girlfriend though. That meant he was a sick son of a bitch in my book.

I turned back to the bar to get a drink of water when I heard it. Were thoughts are pretty difficult to read, but when you've spent three weeks in a Were bar trying to hear them, the thoughts become clearer. Sometimes they're just pictures, or feelings, or just random words that don't make much sense without context. If the mind is sharp, like a Werewolf mind, then the thoughts are never strung together in any rational way. If the mind isn't so sharp or well-protected, I could get whole sentences if I concentrated really hard. I took the glass of water from Brewer and shut my eyes. I sipped the drink slowly, the ice cubes rubbing up against my lip.

_She's almost dry. We need to get rid of the body. _I stopped drinking and put the glass down. I began to see pictures. Jenna was a pretty girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes with yellow flecks. Her skin was tan, her lips a rosy pink. She was thin but buxom. I saw her in the mind's eye of a patron in a booth in my section, dipped into the corner. Then I saw a residence. It was a little house beside a gigantic apartment building. There were two cars parked in the driveway, a big white Astro van without windows in the back, and a sport utility vehicle with Louisiana plates. I strained to see the numbers on the house. I listened for the voice again. I shut my eyes. I waited.

_17 Winona Place_. It was as clear as day in my brain. I looked at Brewer across the bar. I patted my side. I nodded to my tables. He shooed me toward the back. Essentially, I'd told him I had a call from my husband, James. He would watch my tables for me while I went outside to call James back. I skirted around the tables, tipping my head to Angela, Janine, and Jamie Lynn. I pushed on the employee door and broke out into the sweltering heat of Southeast Texas.

My heels wobbled uneasily as I skipped across the parking lot to stand behind the bright beams of two street lights.


	3. Chapter 3

**Down by the Bayou**

_Chapter 3_

I dug around in my purse and found a length of pink ribbon. I wiggled the wedding band off my finger and threaded it onto the ribbon, then tied the newly fashioned necklace around my neck. It was just long enough to tuck into my bosom, out of the way of patrons' eyes. Brewer nodded agreeably, smiled, and began showing me around the Caterwaul Bar and Grill. The restaurant was larger than Merlotte's, though I expect it had a lot to do with the number of patrons in Houston compared with the available customer base in Bon Temps.

"Now, as you know, this is a Were-owned establishment. I inherited the place from my dad when he passed away, and we still cater to the same clientele. Of course, we get a good number of customers that are just regular ol' people, too. Some of our staff is human, and they don't know a damn thing about me or any other Supes."

"So basically, I shouldn't go around talking about it."

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, feel free to talk about James at your leisure. Of course, I'll remind you that even though Texas passed the Vampire Rights Act, that doesn't mean too many folks are in favor of it. There are a lot of Fellowshippers around here."

"Yeah, they're everywhere," I sighed uncomfortably.

"Anyway, that's just my advice. Keep stuff that's gonna make folks uncomfortable on the Q.T. Otherwise, just about anything's fair game. I mean, James said you worked in a bar back home, right?"

"Yeah, I did. I know how to keep things friendly and happy. Don't worry about me."

"Great!" Brewer smiled a genuine sort of smile. He led me around to the kitchen and introduced me to the cook. As we were going back toward his office to fill out paperwork, a young woman strode in through the employee entrance. She had scraggly blond hair that fell over her shoulders in odd lumps, and one of her grayish eyes was encircled by a stunning purple bruise that had been inadequately covered with flesh-colored foundation. She smiled happily at Brewer, then cocked her head in my direction, assuming an introduction was in order.

"Jamie Lynn, this is Abby Pearson," Brewer smiled jovially. The more I got to know the Cajun, the more I liked him. His happy-go-lucky personality was infectious. I smiled at Jamie Lynn, and I made that smile honest.

"Happy to meetcha," Jamie Lynn nodded. She gave a little grin of her own, and I saw that she was missing a couple of teeth on the bottom half of her jaw. Her teeth were stained yellow from smoking, and her breath almost flattened me with stale cigarette stink. "Are you new in town?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "My husband, James, and I just moved here from Louisiana."

"Oh, that's great! I love Louisiana!" Jamie Lynn sure seemed like a sweetheart, even if she was plagued by some apparent problems. On the other hand, what did I know? Maybe she was just really good at running into things with her face.

I caught up with Jamie Lynn again when Brewer released me from paperwork to cover a few tables. The bar was fairly quiet on weeknights, and that left time for the wait staff to gossip. I stood in a small triangle of women while we waited for folks to finish eating. Jamie Lynn had touched up her bruised eye with more makeup, but the effort hadn't done much to cover it. We were joined by Angela Lange, a sweet young woman putting herself through nursing school by waiting tables.

"So how long have you been married?" Jamie Lynn asked curiously.

"About two years now," I lied smoothly. I'd been practicing Abby's background for a few days, and I'd finally memorized all of her facts.

"I've been dating Ted for almost a year. He's a great guy too, just like your James from the sound of it." Jamie Lynn beamed. Beside her, Angela rolled her eyes.

"He's started taking me to his church, and I just love it there. All the people are so nice, and we do these things called lockouts. We have this big sleepover and the church brings in all kinds of sandwiches and ice cream, and we talk about Jesus. It's a lot of fun!"

"He goes to the Fellowship of the Sun, right Jamie Lynn?" Angela asked. I could tell by the way her lips puckered, as though she'd just eaten an entire lemon, that she was far from pleased with the FOTS. I liked Angela instantly.

"Yeah, that's right. Do you go?"

"No," Angela frowned. "I have my own…my own church."

"What about you, Abby?"

"Hm?" I asked. Okay Sookie, think fast. "Oh, well, I'm Jewish."

"Oh." Jamie Lynn grunted.

Our slightly awkward conversation broke up when the front door swung open and two young men found a seat in my section. I looked over my shoulder at Jamie Lynn. She'd slumped her shoulders as she took care of her own tables, and I wondered what bothered her more: that Angela was a Christian that chose to attend another church service, or that I was Jewish, and obviously blasphemous. Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I turned my attention to the two boys at one of the high tables in my area. I could tell just by looking at them that they were Supes. I grinned, pulled my pencil out of my hair, and cocked a hip as I settled into place beside their table.

"Well howdy there," one of the boys greeted me. He stuck out his hand and I shook it. Beside him, his friend took the hand holding my pencil, lifted it to his lips, and gave me a little peck on the knuckles. I couldn't help giggling, and they both knocked their cowboy-hat-covered heads back and laughed.

"Howdy yourself," I grinned. "I'm S…Abby, and I'll be your server tonight." I let out a little breath. Close call.

"Pleasure to meet you, Abby. I'm Casper," the man with the lips grinned. "And this here's Jared."

"The pleasure's all mine," I nodded pleasantly.

"We'll take a couple of Bud's, and since it's quiet tonight, we'd love for you to sit and talk with us a bit. We're both good buddies of Brewer."

"Well alright, long as it's just talkin'," I agreed.

"Yes Ma'am," Casper tilted his head in the direction of my not-so-discrete necklace.

"Oh!" I tucked the ring back between my breasts and leaned over secretively. "We won't tell Brewer you saw that."

"Our lips are sealed, Miss Abby," Jared grinned. He made a gesture of zipping his lips and throwing away an invisible key.

I went to order two beers from the bar, and after checking my emptying tables, I went to sit beside Casper and Jared. The boys were both sweethearts, obviously from the same society as Brewer, though they weren't Louisiana migrants. Casper was a ranch hand, visiting Houston on extended holiday, and Jared worked as an auto mechanic. They sipped their drinks casually, obviously not looking to intoxicate themselves on a work night.

"So tell us about the lucky man that roped you in, Miss Abby," Casper grinned.

"Well, his name is James," I smiled. I began making little notes in my head about James' history, his work, his background. "And since you're friends with Brewer, something tells me y'all are…well, aware of the supernatural underground, right?"

"You couldn't tell just by lookin' at us, eh?" Jared laughed. "I'm a coyote, and Casper here's a German Shepard."

"What's James?" Casper asked frankly.

"He's a vampire," I said gently.

"Oh, neat! Gotta love that new Vampire Rights act, right? I sent a letter to my congressman about that thing. If Vamps can get rights, that'll mean Supes'll get rights when we reveal ourselves too!" Casper grinned. Jared nodded right alongside him.

"You know, I'm really starting to like Houston. Y'all are so…so…"

"Liberal?"

"Normal?"

"Both, I think," I giggled. The boys knocked back their beers and I excused myself to refill them and check my tables.

While I checked my tables, I stood back from Casper and Jared to try to get a reading. After all, the point of this whole trip had been to do some investigating. I knew in my gut that Casper and Jared were the world's most unlikely candidates for black market V dealings, but that didn't mean I couldn't experiment on them. If nothing else, I figured, or at least hoped, that their thoughts would be as down to earth and homey as the words that came out of their mouths. I stood near the bar and leaned on it with one elbow. I closed my eyes and let the barriers around my mind fall down. Jamie Lynn and Angela were the only other humans in the bar, so I blocked them out. I strained to listen to other sounds. I zeroed in on Casper and Jared, sitting only ten feet in front of me.

My head started to ache, but through the pain, I caught a convoluted, almost watery image. It was a woman with hazel eyes and a pink mouth. She had curly brown hair and tan skin. I fished her out of a deep pool of Supe thoughts, and then the connection broke. It was sudden and unexpected, as though I'd been yanked out of the depths by my hair. I held onto the bar to keep from falling onto my knees. Drops of sweat beaded on my brow and dripped down either side of my face. I felt nauseous, and my head was throbbing. There were little lights glowing in my field of vision. Brewer's voice sounded worried somewhere in the background.

"Chere, you okay?" He asked me. I turned around slowly, and I almost lost my grip on the bar.

"I'm feelin' awful sick all of a sudden," I croaked.

"You go on home, chere. You call me iffn you ain't feelin' alright tomorrow." He reached out and patted my hand. "I'll call you a cab."

"Thanks," I murmured.

When the cab arrived, I sank into the backseat and gave directions to the driver. It was a wonder I could remember where I was, let alone where I needed to be to be "home." I stumbled through the underground parking lot and took the elevator to our own private condo entrance. I unlocked the door and pushed it open with my shoulder. The spots of light were beginning to fade, but I still felt ridiculously sick, as though everything were far too heavy.

Eric got up from the sofa, where he was talking on the phone. He hung up without a word and took two big steps over to me. His hands fell on my arms and I dropped like a stone, knowing he would hold me up.

"Do you have news already?" Eric asked impatiently. He pulled me to my reluctant feet. I turned my head and retched, but came up with nothing.

"I couldn't read much," I whispered hoarsely. "Brewer sent me home sick."

"You're ill," Eric frowned, taking far too long to come to an obvious conclusion. He picked me up and held me against his chest. His shirt smelled like Old Spice aftershave, but I was too sick to enjoy inhaling it. His lips touched my forehead.

Water pounded against the basin of the bathtub, and I covered my ears to block out the sound. Eric pulled me out of my clothes. He untied my wedding band necklace and left it on the bathroom sink. I looked at his hand as it stretched out to turn off the faucet, to test the temperature of the water. He wasn't wearing a matching band, and it was actually comforting to see him without it. I felt like things were a little more normal inside these walls. I could be Sookie Stackhouse, barmaid, telepath, and lover to a thousand year old Viking vampire. Eric stripped off my clothes and his, and we sank into the water together. When his cellular rang, he reached into his pants pocket to turn it off. We soaked in the water until my eyes felt so heavy that I could no longer keep them open.

I spent the week trying to read the minds of my Supe patrons, and even my Supe boss. Sometimes I was repelled so harshly that I felt as though I'd been kicked in the ribs. Other times I got the same watery images, the same migraine-like reactions. I began carrying medicine in my purse so that I could continue working even after a bad episode. On Friday night, the bar was hopping with business, and I had to keep the walls closed down. There were humans and vampires, Supes of all shapes and sizes, and it was just too difficult to separate one thought from another. I hovered around the bar, collecting drinks and taking back trays. Jamie Lynn and Angela were occupying the space with me while the bar was alive with the buzz of happy customers.

The walls dropped, just for a moment. I guess I was distracted by the busy night, maybe pulled away from my defenses by the strange strength of her thoughts. Whatever the explanation, Jamie Lynn's thoughts wiggled their way into my head like a determined parasite. Her thoughts weren't in word form. She didn't appear to think in streams of consciousness. Instead, she thought in vivid pictures. I saw a man in there, his hair a dishwater blond, and his eyes dark and piercing brown. His mouth was twisted in mental agony, but I couldn't tell what his problem was. There was no sound to follow Jamie Lynn's picture-thoughts. I didn't know the narrative, only the actions. The man I assumed to be her boyfriend Ted. Whoever he was, he pulled back a massive fist and threw it forward again. My mouth was on fire, and my tongue tasted the familiar rusty flavor of blood. I felt the urge to spit, and I looked down at Jamie Lynn's palm holding a small yellow tooth.

I looked down at the sound of a loud clatter, and I was back in the bar again. Jamie Lynn was walking away from me with a tray of drinks. Angela had cocked her head and was staring at me. I shook my head a little and crouched on the ground to pick up my red cellular phone. Oh crap, I sighed. I flipped open the phone to see a big crack through the screen. That wasn't good. The device was almost useless now.

"You should be able to still make calls with it," Brewer said over my shoulder when I stood back up. "Also, your order is ready."

"Thanks," I sighed. Why had I ever pulled out my phone in the first place? I couldn't remember. Jamie Lynn's thoughts bugged me the rest of the night.

"Did you get anything tonight?" Eric asked when I sat down on the sofa beside him. He hung up on his conference call and leaned back to pull me into his lap. I rested against his shoulder and sighed.

"It was too busy to concentrate on Supe thoughts. However, I did get a weird stream of pictures from one of the waitresses."

"By the sound of your voice, I don't think it was good weird," Eric frowned. He began stroking my hair.

"This girl at the bar, Jamie Lynn? Her boyfriend knocked out her tooth with his fist." I scrunched up my face to declare my disgust.

"You saw it?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "I must have gotten distracted. It was really vivid."

"You know I'd never…" Eric murmured. He pulled me even closer. His arms wrapped around me like safety blankets. I nestled into him. Honestly, he didn't even have to say the words. I knew he'd never punch me in the face, let alone knock out my teeth. I knew he'd never hurt me.

"He's with the FoTS," I sighed, wiggling in closer, as if I could get any closer without being inside his skin.

"Does this woman remind you of that redhead…at the bar?" I knew Eric wouldn't remember her name, but honestly, I was surprised he recalled Arlene at all. He certainly hadn't ever paid her any sort of attention that I knew of. I shrugged a little. I honestly hadn't thought about it. Now that I did I couldn't not think about it. They were the same sorts of women, sweet and loving but not terribly bright, easily swayed by their men folk. I frowned. Thank goodness my Gran had raised me with a backbone.

I felt Eric's lips on my neck, and my thoughts drifted away from Jamie Lynn, Arlene, and their problems with men. I certainly didn't have problems with men. Well, at least not currently. I murmured quietly as he kissed me. My arms rose up to ring around his neck and I turned to straddle his waist. He readjusted his hands to cup my hips, and he lifted me up from the sofa. My Viking lover carried me into the bedroom and tossed me lightly onto the bed. He'd left little candles burning on the nightstands and I giggled at the overstated romance of the whole thing.

"You know, Abby and James have been married for two years, and yet they've never had a honeymoon," Eric crooned before showing me that teasing smile I loved.

"Is that so?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, what are they waiting for?"

"An impromptu trip to Houston, apparently," Eric laughed. He knelt down and kissed me again, swallowing me up in his passion.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. The candle flame stretched toward the bedroom ceiling though most of the wax was a liquid pool running over the sides of a small dessert plate. I watched it flicker and dance. Behind me, Eric pulled me close. I melted into him, conforming to the shape of his body. The soft blond hair on his chest tickled my shoulder blades. His leg wrapped around mine, protective and possessive, but not in an annoying way. He licked at the small holes he'd left along my clavicle. I shivered and purred with pleasure.

"That blond mane of yours is stubborn, lover," Eric chuckled, his chest rumbling under my spine.

"Hm?" I hummed.

"I can already see the roots growing back. You'll have to dye it again."

"Oh," I yawned a little. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Down by the Bayou**

_Chapter 4_

"I'm not going," I muttered, removing my house keys from the deadbolt. I hooked the key ring over the hook beside the back door. Eric followed me into the house, through the living room to the kitchen. I rummaged around in the fridge looking for some kind of supper-like sustenance.

"Sookie, the King is protecting you. You're obligated to work for him." Eric was exasperated. The entire way home from work, he'd been trying to convince me to go to Houston, to read minds while I looked for some vampire-nappers.

According to the Viking, two weeks had passed since Jenna (no last name) had gone missing. The King of Louisiana (and Arkansas, and Nevada) had taken Jenna as his lover. From what I understood (very little), Jenna was a pretty girl, a young vampire, and not terribly intelligent. She was an easy victim for two Weres out of Houston. They'd taken Jenna from her apartment and stolen her away, presumably back to Texas. The King wanted me, 'his' telepath, to infiltrate the Were scene in Houston, find the Weres responsible, and alert his people so that they could get Jenna back. While it's true that I didn't want anything to happen to innocent Weres (that would be caught in a war between the actual Weres responsible and their unhappy vampire enemies), I certainly didn't want to be involved in the whole retrieval process.

"You protect me!" I argued, pulling some leftover chicken out of the icebox. I stuck it on a plate and threw it into the microwave. "And by the way, I don't even need…"

"Don't start," Eric barked, cutting me off. "The point is: I protect you by the King's authorization. Think of it this way. The vampire, Jenna, is being held against her will. She's being slowly tortured, her blood drained away. She can't escape, can't fight back, can't even feed."

"She's a vampire!" I pointed out. I was already feeling bad for Jenna, though. Stupid guilt.

"And if it were me?" Eric raised his eyebrows. That pushed me over the edge. I couldn't even imagine Eric being tortured, held against his will, drained. I shuddered. I lost my appetite.

"Fine! Fine!" I crumbled like a piece of paper. I raised my arms and brought them back down, slapping my sides.

"I'll speak to Sam," Eric offered. He gave me a half-smile of triumph.

"No. I'll speak to Sam. You can find me a place to live in Houston."

"I have already found us a place," he touched my shoulder. "I'm not leaving you there alone."

"You already found US a place?" I asked, clarifying. My blood was boiling again. "You KNEW I was going to give in before I even said it?"

"I knew I would have to be there even if you did not join me, Sookie."

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered. He knew I'd give in eventually, the bastard.

"I'll have papers and a new identity for you in a couple of days. Dye your hair, or buy a wig. You're well known among Supes now, Sookie. I don't want you putting yourself in danger by getting recognized."

"You really think I'm going to get recognized in a city as big as Houston?" I blinked. Surely not. I was only one person.

"Yes. I really do." Eric nodded succinctly.

I went into work the next day to speak to Sam Merlotte, the world's most understanding boss. I steered my butt into his office as soon as my shift ended, and I sat down on the dusty old sofa against his back wall. Sam looked up from his desk, sporting a big grin. His strawberry blond hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. He'd been growing out a beard and his scruff was starting to look decent instead of unkempt.

"Hey Sookie," he smiled at me. "Heard you're going to Houston for a bit."

"I told Eric I'd speak to you myself!" I squeaked, outraged. I got up off the sofa and curled my fingers into fists. Oh I was so mad, I could have kicked Eric square in the jaw.

"It's all good, Sook. I'm actually closing the bar down for a little while."

"What?!" I stared at him as though his face had gone green. "What do you mean?"

"My folks bought me a trip to Jamaica. I'm leaving on Monday. I don't really want to leave the bar open while I'm gone, in case something happens. So I'm taking a bit of an extended vacation."

"Wow. What's everyone going to do for work while you're gone?"

"I'm giving all the staff half-pay while I'm gone. It's really all I can afford to do. The diner is taking on some extra staff, so I'm sure most of the girls can find positions over there. It's only for a couple of weeks. But you have fun in Houston, Sookie. I'll see you when you get back."

I went home feeling a little dazed. Sam was going on vacation. I was leaving for Houston. Things were getting a bit crazy in Bon Temps. On my way back to the house, I stopped at the grocery store for dinner supplies. Then I walked uneasily down the hair-care aisle. I didn't want anything permanent. I like being a blond, I really do. I mean, sure, I get made fun of sometimes for being both blond and a little off my rocker, but I don't mind. Blondes have more fun, right? I stood in front of the wash-out dye section for ten minutes and finally picked up a box that said "Light-to-medium brown." The color was Pecan. It certainly didn't look like Pecans. It was too light. Oh well.

After eating supper while the sun was still up far too high in the sky, I went back to the bathroom that adjoined my bedroom. I pulled out the directions for the hair dye, and I put on the latex gloves that had come with the kit. I have small hands, and the gloves were a bit big, making the whole process just a little bit more cumbersome.

"Take bottle A and add the contents to bottle B," I read aloud. I determined that bottle A was the dye, so I twisted off the cap for bottle B and poured bottle A into it. I made sure not to spill on the counter.

"Twist off the cap on bottle B, then cover the opening with your index finger and shake bottle B for 30 seconds, or until liquids are properly combined."

I shook the bottle vigorously, even going to far as to do a little dance. I was getting my groove on when Amelia knocked on the bathroom door. She grinned at me and waved.

"Hey Sook, nice skills!"

"Oh, hey Amelia, thanks!" I smiled back at her. "Okay let's see. Part hair into sections and saturate with dye."

"Can I help? I'm a pro."

"Well, I don't know," I wavered. "I don't want to have to get another kit."

"Have you ever dyed your hair before?" Amelia put her hands on her hips.

"No. Have you?" I blinked.

"Yep! I was one of those punk rock kids. I did green and blue and pink and purple! It took ages to get back to my natural color."

"Fine. But if you mess it up…" I frowned, handing her the gloves and the bottle of dye.

"Have a little faith in me, Sook!"

She wouldn't let me look, even after she had all the dye in. We sat carefully in kitchen chairs, me in my bra and pants with a rag towel around my shoulders, and watched television. The egg timer went off after twenty minutes and I marched back to the bathroom to wash out the dye. I spent almost a half hour under the faucet, scrubbing out all the dye, and putting in the conditioner, then waiting for it to do its magic, then washing it out again. I got out of the shower nervously and went to stand in front of the mirror that covered the medicine cabinet.

I look weird as brunette.

"How does it look, Sookie?" Amelia called from my bedroom door. I stuck my head out of the bathroom and looked at her. She looked at me. "Wow."

"Wow good or wow bad?" I asked reproachfully.

"Wow, you're a brunette." Amelia answered.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It looks good, Sookie. It's just…unexpected."

"Great."

"Well at least no one will recognize you, right? Isn't that the point of doing this?"

"Yeah, but… wait, how did you know that?"

"Uhm, sort of overheard you last night with Eric. You get really loud when you're angry."

"Sorry we woke you."

"It's okay. I was up late reading."

"It doesn't look bad right?" I sighed.

"No. It really doesn't. Don't worry. Besides, it'll wash out in a few weeks and you'll be back to your old self again."

Eric came by that evening with my new identity. When he knocked, I opened the back door and looked at him. He stared back at me. I'd pulled my pecan-colored hair into a ponytail, but it was still very obviously brown. Amelia had added a little brow liner to my blond eyebrows, and she'd put a little dark shadow on my eyelids.

"You look perfect," he smiled, leaning into the doorway to kiss my lips. Mmm. Okay so maybe gentlemen don't prefer blondes. Of course, Eric Northman was anything but a gentleman. He walked into the house and handed me a manila folder. I walked over to the coffee table and emptied its contents.

Inside the folder there was a new driver's license, a birth certificate, and a social security number. Eric sat down beside me and kissed my neck gently. He stuck a final sheet of paper on top of the ones I'd already collected. It was a marriage certificate. I looked at it.

"What's this?"

"Lover, in the state of Texas, it is legal for a human and a vampire to be married. I thought we would look less suspicious if we lived together and were husband and wife."

"Okay…" I frowned. Huh, I'd gotten married without my permission in less than a day. Amazing. "And you're...let's see, James R. Pearson?"

"Yes. You are Abigail Pearson."

"Abigail?" I wrinkled my nose.

"It is as unusual as Sookie," Eric answered matter-of-factly.

"Since when is my name unusual?"

"Since always, lover. Now, just sign your name on his card. Make sure it looks the same as the signature on the license."

"You spoke to Sam," I frowned as I started copying the signature.

"I apologize, lover. When it comes to plans like these, I am--what is the expression, a control freak? I like to make sure everything is taken care of, and I like to be the one to do it." I gave him a dirty look. He patted my hand.

"I've made arrangements to go to Houston ahead of you. I've rented a condominium near the Buffalo Bayou. It has both underground and above-ground living spaces so that I can sleep in peace and you may have windows. When you get to town, you'll begin working under your alias at the Caterwaul Bar and Grill. It's a supe-bar. It's probably our best bet in finding these Weres."

"You really are a control-freak," I blinked at him, astounded and, frankly, impressed by his attention to detail.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning by Anubis Airlines. Here is your flight information," he handed me a plane ticket. "The flight is for Abigail Pearson, not Sookie Stackhouse. Remember to bring everything I've gotten for you. Don't bring anything that could give away your real identity."

"It's all so secret agent," I giggled. I leaned up to kiss him. He returned the favor, definitely shadowing James Bond. I felt his tongue on my tongue, his lips heavy and hard on my mouth. I gasped when he dropped back.

"I need to go. There is much work for me at Fangtasia before I leave." He got to his feet and I was sad to see him go, even if I'd be joining him in twenty four hours.

"Eric?" I breathed. He turned to look at me. His eyes glinted and he had a smile on his face.

"Lover?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Can't you stay a little while longer?" I winked at him.

"Well," he grinned that sly grin of his. "Maybe a little while longer."

The flight to Houston was a short one, and I disembarked at the Houston airport, only to be picked up by a certain blonde in a pretty black Cadillac. It was late, around 9:30, when we drove down into the bowels of an underground parking garage. Eric took my bags out of the trunk and led me up an elevator to our own private entrance into our own condo. The place was gigantic. The bedroom was on the underground floor so that I could sleep beside my dead-to-the-world lover, and there was a full kitchen and dining room, as well as a loft with an office upstairs. I began unpacking immediately, hanging my clothes in the closets. Eric's clothes were gorgeous. There were pressed button down shirts and pairs of jeans and slacks. He'd even brought a three piece suit, though I wasn't entirely sure as to why.

"You need to get down to the Caterwaul, Abigail," Eric growled against my ear. He wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged me against his hips. Boy, if he wanted me to go to my new job this badly, the work must be really interesting.

"It isn't a strip club, is it?" I balked, suddenly thinking about his reaction a little too much. Eric laughed loudly and suddenly.

"No," he rumbled, still chuckling. "No, lover."

"Hey now, buster. I'm more than your lover. I'm your wife." I giggled and turned around, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Tell me the sex gets better when you're married."

"I'll do my best to impregnate you," Eric grinned, cocking his eyebrow, showing his fangs.

During daylight hours, while my 'husband' slept, I went down to the Caterwaul in our pretty black Cadillac. Boy, if I drove this thing around too much, people would think I was doing waitressing for the sex or the boredom, not because I needed the money. I'd never actually gotten much sex or excitement from my half-decade stint was a barmaid at Merlotte's, but this was the big city. I shrugged, parked a little ways down the street, and sauntered up to the bar, trying to look desperate for work and also sexy. It turned out that I didn't need to bother. Eric (I mean, James) had already gotten me the job. My boss, a Werewolf named Brewer, was an old friend of Stan Davis, the King of Texas. He knew I was undercover, though he didn't know who I actually was or who the culprits responsible for Jenna's disappearance were either.

"You'll be working on the floor mostly." Brewer told me. He dug around in a box and pulled out a uniform. The ensemble included a far too short black mini skirt and a red cap-sleeved v-neck tee shirt with the bar's name and location screen-printed on the breast. "I might need you behind the bar on occasion, but we have a bartender most nights."

"What's the rest of the dress code?" I asked, looking at my new uniform with a great big sigh.

"Black shoes, I don't care what kind long as they match and look good. Most of the girls wear their hair down on their shoulders. We get a lot of men here, mostly men come to think of it. I mean, they ain't really human men, but guys like the same thing, yanno?"

"I hear ya," I nodded.

"Great. See you tonight, Miss Abby."

"Mrs. Pearson," I reminded him. "But Abby is fine."

"Right. Gotcha. You think you can leave the ring on a chain around your neck though? Guys like to know girls are available, even when they ain't."


End file.
